by Ben Hammott
They had almost reached the quarry entrance when Furtive glanced back. What he saw caused him to stop. The others joined him in staring at Drooge Manor and the flames in one of its upstairs windows.
Butler sighed. "There go my two spare suits."
"And all that delicious brandy," said Furtive sadly, but then smiled and tapped his pocket. "Though, of course, I did steal a couple of bottles for my own personal use."
"A houseful of memories gone up in flames," said Ebenezer sadly.
Butler looked at Ebenezer in surprise. "Really, Sir, that's all you will miss?"
"What! Did I say that out loud? Bah! It's only a damn house. Bricks and mortar. Good riddance to it is what I say."
"That's better, Sir. You had me worried for a moment."
"As important as suits, brandy and memories are to us all," said Furtive. "What about the two prisoners trapped inside?"
Butler stared at the window of the study. Though the shutters should prevent bullets from getting through, nothing would stop the flames once they took hold. "They'll be burnt to death! I'll have to go back." He turned to Furtive. "You stay with Ebenezer and Lurch. I'll run back, set them free and meet you in the quarry."
Furtive nodded. "Don't worry about us."
"Would you like me to come with you, Sir?" Lurch asked.
"Thanks for the offer, but you are needed here. Your job is to make sure no harm comes to Ebenezer."
"Of course, Sir, you can count on me."
Butler noticed the concerned face of his employer. "You know it's the right thing to do, Sir. I can't be responsible for their deaths."
"I know, Butler, but please be careful. You get yourself killed and I absolutely will fire you this time."
"I know you will, Sir, and it will be deserved." Butler turned away and ran back across the moor.
They watched him for a few moments.
"I suggest we keep moving, Ebenezer," said Furtive. "We are in the open here and if any of Sebastian's men sees us, they will come and find out what we are up too."
"I agree, let's go."
They moved toward the quarry.
"Do you think Mr. Butler will be okay, Sir?"
"I hope so, Lurch. I do hope so."
Shadow watched Butler sprint by and wondered why the man would risk his life to save those of his enemy. A glance toward the quarry revealed the three misfits going to find the treasure. Shadow had a decision to make.
Crakett Murdersin moaned.
Because their chairs had been tied back to back to reduce their chance of escape before the others had fled, Arthur had to look over his shoulder to see Crakett. "Are you awake yet, Mr. Murdersin?"
Crakett mumbled drowsily.
"Was that a yes?"
Crakett winced from the throbbing pain in his head, whose cause was not only from Butler's assault. "Don't you ever stop asking questions, Milkwood?"
"I'm sure I must do, but I am afraid this is not going to be one of those times and though I know this might not be the best moment to bring this up, I was wondering about my fee?"
Crakett's gaze around the room took in every detail and object. "What about your fee?"
"Well, I was wondering when I was going to receive it?"
"Well, ignoring your atrocious performance in the scheme of things…"
"Oh, thank you, Sir. I knew you were a good sort and not one to let a little slip-up stop you from honoring our agreement."
"I will continue. …in the scheme of things that have passed since you arrived here, my hands, in fact my whole body, is tied securely to a chair, so even if I had an inclination to pay you your fee, it would be impossible for me to give it to you."
"I have a little movement in my arms, so if you could sort of squirm to the side a bit, I might be able to reach into the pocket your money is secreted if you inform me which one that would be."
"If your hands go anywhere near my pockets it will be the last place they will go while still attached to your arms."
"Oh! Alright, Sir, you can pay me later, when you are free. Though I'm sure I don't know when that will be."
"In the next couple of minutes if all goes to plan."
"Is it a cunning plan, Sir? So cunning that if it was learnt of by a fox, it would be so dismayed by its cunning slyness it would run toward the sound of the hunters horns and snarling dogs and beg them to kill it."
"No!"
"Oh! What sort of plan is it, then?"
"A simple plan."
"I'd prefer the plan to be cunning if there was a choice, Sir."
"Do you, Milkwood, have a cunning plan?"
"Not right at this moment."
"Simple plan it is, then."
"Maybe you could add a bit of theater to your plan to make it not so boring and then I think I could ignore its lack of cunning."
"I've never met anyone who likes the sound of his own nasally voice as much as you do."
"Thank you, Mr. Murdersin."
"It wasn't a compliment."
"It was to me."
Crakett sighed. "I am sticking with my boring, simple plan and the first part is to maneuver our chairs around a bit, toward the low table."
Arthur glanced over his left shoulder at the table. "How do you expect us to do that?"
"Wiggle and throw your weight in the direction you want to move, which for you is toward the table, and I'll shove in the opposite direction so we turn."
"I don't actually want to move. I'm quite happy here."
"If you don't move I'll rock these chairs back and forth so violently it will tip you over so your face smashes onto the floor."
"It's always the threats with you. I've yet to hear a please or thank you pass from your lips except when your asked Butler to stab me. Thanks for that by the way. That last bit was sarcasm just in case you failed to notice, Sir."
Crakett started to rock the chairs back and forth.
"Okay, okay, I'll help you with your simple plan." In a lackluster manner Arthur attempted to edge the chair toward the low table. "It's no good, it's impossible."
"My old granny could do better than that," said Crakett. "And she's been dead ten years."
"Maybe you should go and fetch her then."
"Of all the people to be tied too, it had to be you."
"Yeah, well, you certainly would not have been my first choice either."
A shot rang out and something struck the window shutter.
Arthur jerked his head toward the loud impact. "What was that?"
"Either a particularly hard drop of rain or a bullet," said Crakett.
"A bullet? Who would want to shoot at a house?"
"Probably someone who wasted money on a ticket for one of your plays, knows you are in here and wants revenge."
"I'd have you know I received a standing…" Arthur screamed when bullets peppered the shutter.
"Stop screaming like a girl, they won't penetrate through the shutter. At least I don't think they will. We should be perfectly safe in here."
"That's alright for you to say, if a bullet gets in it will first have to pass through my poor talented body before hitting yours."
"It's true what they say; every cloud does have a silver lining. If you don't want to get shot all you have to do is move your chair around a bit and we'll be free a few moments later."
More shots. More bullets struck the shutter. One got through, shattered the window and smashed a vase on the sideboard before burying itself in the wall.
Arthur's attempt to move the chair a second time was a lot more enthusiastic.
"Stop!" Crakett ordered.
Arthur breathed heavily. "Are you sure? I can go further."
"Any further and we will have swapped positions."
"I see no downside to that."
"Rock from side to side so the chairs tip toward the table."
Arthur glanced at the table and saw the empty glass and the brandy decanter. "I see your plan; you will smash the glass or the decanter and use the sharp edg
es to cut through our ropes."
"Something like that. Now rock as if your life depended on it, which in fact it does."
The two captives rocked.
The chair overbalanced and tipped toward the table. The top of the high backs struck one corner and flipped it into the air. Glass and decanter were catapulted into the air and on similar trajectories and both smashed into the crystal chandelier. The delicate teardrops of crystal that formed the impressive chandelier split into slivers and fell.
"Mr. Ebenezer won't like that," said Arthur. "That looked expensive and probably an antique."
The low table flipped over and came to a rest with one end on the sofa and the other resting on the chair backs.
Arthur glimpsed at all the objects in play. "I'm beginning to think this simple plan of yours, Mr. Murdersin, is not as simple as you led me to believe."
The thicker glass and decanter suffered no damage by their collision with the delicate chandelier; the head the decanter plummeted toward would not be so lucky.
Arthur watched the decanter fill his vision. Though it was not his first doubt that Crakett's simple plan would not work, it was the one that caused him the most concern. The decanter struck the side of his head before bouncing to the floor and he was concerned no more.
Crakett, unconcerned by the decanters trajectory, or in fact anything it struck during its flight, stretched his head around to watch the falling shards of crystal. They tinkled onto the low table and slid down its angled length and dropped off the edge. Though most landed on the floor, a few fell into Crakett's open palm waiting to receive them. He selected the largest and in a few moments had cut through his ropes. A few seconds later he was free. Without a glance at the unconscious actor, he casually walked from the room.
He ignored the bullets smashing the glass of the front door and striking the carved woodwork and the peeling mildewed papered walls. A glance up the stairs revealed the raging fire about to rip through the house. While he contemplated his escape route, he turned toward the sound of approaching footsteps. His hand reached into the secret pocket of his jacket and pulled out the legendary fruit knife. His feet carried him silently into the shadows. His thirst for revenge bade him to wait.
Butler rushed through the wine cellar and leapt up the stairs three at a time. He entered the hall lit by the flames creeping down the once magnificent stairs and hurried toward the study. He never reached it. A jab to the throat brought him to an air gasping halt. A hand pulled his head back. A knife pressed against his throat. He froze.
"Hello, Butler."
Though Butler recognized Crakett's voice the knife held tight against his windpipe made it unwise for him to return the greeting.
"Where is the rest of your little gang?" He released the knife pressure slightly.
"Gone," Butler replied a little hoarsely.
"Gone where?"
"Far away from this place by now. Sebastian's men turned up and we thought it wise to leave. I only came back because I saw the fire and couldn't leave you and Arthur to burn. By the way, where is Arthur?"
"Where you left him, but not in the same condition."
"You killed him!"
Crakett shrugged. "He might be dead or alive. I have no concerns either way."
"You were going to leave him to burn."
"I have no inclination to discuss what I was not going to do, my interest lays elsewhere. Where are the paintings?"
"Ebenezer threw his on the fire and Sebastian's is in the garden if his men haven't found it by now."
"If you are going to lie, at least say something convincing."
"If you don't believe me take a look in the hearth in the dining room. I'm sure there's enough left of the painting to indicate I am telling the truth."
"But why would the old miser burn it? It doesn't make sense."
"It does if you know what Ebenezer has been through. The lost inheritance of his grandfather's was to be his savior. He is practically penniless. When we compared the two paintings we realized immediately it had all been a lie. A big joke played by Jacobus on his relations. There are no clues in the paintings. There is no hidden inheritance."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because both paintings were identical down to the last brushstroke; that's why Ebenezer had me throw Sebastian's out the window and he fed his to the flames. It went up in smoke like his dreams of a better life."
"I admit you tell a convincing story, but I still don't believe you."
"I told you where the proof can be found. Look or not, I am past caring. This whole fiasco has been nothing but a total waste of time."
"Why did you return Sebastian's painting?"
"It was Ebenezer's last shot at getting one over on his brother; he knew Sebastian would keep looking until the day he climbed into his grave. Ebenezer wanted him to continue wasting his time, forever hoping that one day all would become clear and the lost inheritance would at last be his."
Crakett thought for a few moments and then dragged Butler into the dining room and over to the fireplace. He stared at the shriveled, blistered canvas and the corner of the artwork that had survived the flames. "Okay, Butler, it seems you have told the truth. This though will not save your life."
"I must admit it comes as no great surprise." Butler had slowly been moving a hand toward the pistol in his pocket. He stopped when he felt Crakett tense. Had he guessed what he was trying to do? He waited.
Crakett felt the gentle caress on his neck, a sudden pressure and then nothing. He was paralyzed from head to foot. His eyes the only part of his body left with movement. They looked to his left as something attracted his vision, a dark form. He then realized who it was and that his death would not be long coming. He stared at the fabled assassin and watched as the mask was removed. If he had full control of his body, his eyebrows would have risen so high they would be on the ceiling and a shocked gasp would have escaped from his open mouth. Though his eyes did their best to display the man's astonishment, without the accompanying particulars to reinforce the astounded expression, it was as uninspiring as Arthur Milkwood's acting.
Shadow smiled.
Inside Crakett screamed. Fingers probed his neck and shortly after his heart ceased to beat.
Butler, though unsure of what Crakett was doing, when he felt the man's knife arm slip down his sleeve, he grabbed the pistol from beneath his jacket and turned to see Crakett flop to the floor. He stared at the man, but saw no movement; not even the rise and fall of his chest. He knelt and felt for the man's pulse; he didn't find it. Unsure what had killed the man so suddenly, but thought a heart attack most probable, he rushed from the room, entered the study and knelt beside Arthur. A quick check proved him to still be alive. While untying the rope, the man became conscious.
"Oooow, my head really hurts, Crakett."
Butler helped Arthur to his feet. "Crakett's dead!"
Arthur looked at his savior in surprise. "Really?"
Butler nodded. "Yes, really. He's in the dining room. A heart attack I think."
"I don't suppose he happened to mention the fee I was promised before he died?"
"No, he didn't. Now quick, follow me. Upstairs is on fire and it won't be long before the whole house is aflame."
"In that case, lead the way."
Butler rushed from the room and headed to the cellar. "There's a secret tunnel down here we can use to escape." He turned at the bottom of the steps to discover Arthur's absence. He sighed and waited.
A loud crash in the hall reverberated down to the cellar. He saw Arthur appear and shoot a glance back along the hall. He grabbed the key from the hall-side lock, shut the door and locked it. He smiled at Butler. "A plump man just smashed through the front door."
"Maybe he didn't notice the bell," said Butler, dryly. "You seem happier. Did Crakett finally settle your account?"
Arthur nodded enthusiastically. "Plus a bonus for a good job and a late payment charge he insisted I take."
"Strange, h
e didn't seem the generous sort to me." Butler headed toward the secret door at the end of the wine cellar.
"I believe it was death that changed him."
Butler grabbed the lantern he had left by the opening and led Arthur down the steps.
"Crakett told me a little while ago," Arthur continued, "that every cloud had a silver lining and mine is obvious," he tapped the bulge in his jacket for emphasis, "but I bet he is finding it hard to find his now." Arthur smiled. "It's a funny old life this acting lark."
Shadow followed them through the underground caverns.
FORCED ENTRY
Furtive, Ebenezer and Lurch stepped into the metal cage, which creaked in protest when it was forced to support the weight of the large man who had to bend at the waist to fit inside. Furtive released the ratchet that locked the cage in place and it descended quicker than it had ever done before. The crash emitted when it struck the concrete base echoed through the quarry. The three men staggered out.
Furtive looked at the slightly buckled cage. "I think on our return, you, Lurch, will enter on your own."
"Yes, Mr. Furtive, I agree. I don't think it was built to carry three passengers."
Furtive ignored the retort that sprung to mind and turned to Ebenezer. "Do you know where Diablo's lair is?"
Ebenezer pointed into the quarry. "In the old gold mine near the far end."
Furtive pulled the four barreled blunderbuss out from under his coat and slapped it into a palm. "Then let's go and get you your inheritance Mr. Ebenezer."
Lurch lifted Ebenezer onto his back and followed the furtive thief.
Furtive's eyes searched the darker areas for any sign of danger as he led them through the quarry. "Is this where the stone came from to construct the castle and your manor, Mr. Ebenezer?"
"It is, though that was before my time."
"And the gold mine is what made your family wealthy?"
"Wealthier. Jacobus was already rich. He was a ruthless banker, a wise investor and a man who lived for making a profit by any means. People and acquaintances were mere tools to him, to be used and discarded when they had outlived their usefulness or no longer had funds."